


Hot chocolate

by StarsandSnow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsandSnow/pseuds/StarsandSnow
Summary: Credits: Instagram— @drarry4eva





	Hot chocolate

He was home. Harry Potter was finally back at Hogwarts. Last year still troubled him, he often woke up in a cold sweat after dreaming about the war. Sometimes he couldn’t even get out of bed. He’d lost so much. So many had died. But he had done it. He had defeated Voldemort. That was the only thing that would get him out of bed. That and the prospect of returning to Hogwarts.

Because him and many others had missed out on taking their NEWTs last year, they were going back to Hogwarts one last time to get their qualifications, before they went off into the wizarding world to live their lives. All alone, fending for themselves. Finally adults.

Harry couldn’t bear to think of the war anymore, he just wanted to focus on his schoolwork. Get good grades. He was aiming for all Es, he thought if he worked really hard he might even be able to scrape a couple of Os. Then he could get a job for the ministry as an auror, the only job he could imagine himself doing. He’d already spent his whole childhood doing it, why not get paid? Harry grimaced. He was so angry. He’d missed out on so much because of Voldemort. He’d even missed out on parents.

Harry stopped himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about all that. “Just focus on school,” he told himself. The only other thing he’d spend time dwelling on was quidditch. Harry had missed quidditch dearly in the year since he’d last played it. It was such a wonderful feeling, soaring high above the ground with wind in his hair. He felt as if he couldn’t wait any longer. With that thought, he grabbed his broom, and hurried down to the quidditch pitch. The second he got there he hopped onto his broom, and kicked hard off the ground, climbing high into the air. 

It was magical. The best Harry had felt in a long time. He zoomed along, as fast as his broom would take him, leaning low on the handle of his firebolt. The wind whipped through his hair, making it, if possible, even more untidy. He could feel the wind stinging his cheeks, but he refused to stop. He had no idea how long he flew for, he lost all sense of time. Towards the end, he remembered doing a loop-the-loop, and let out a loud whoop of joy.

When he finally landed, he saw Ginny stood at the side of the pitch, clutching her own broom. Harry felt awkward as he made her way across to her, self consciously running a hand through his hair in a hopeless attempt to flatten it. The last time he spoke to Ginny, he’d been telling her that he didn’t want to be with her. He didn’t tell her why, because he didn’t really know himself. He just knew he couldn’t be her boyfriend. He just couldn’t do it. 

“Having fun?” Ginny asked, clearly wanting do avoid the whole Harry-Ginny situation, which suited Harry just fine. He wasn’t keen on discussing it either.

“Yeah.” He smiled blissfully. “I missed flying so much. Can’t wait to try out for the quidditch team. You’re the new captain aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah I am.” Ginny said awkwardly.

“Congrats. Make sure I get in!” He gave a weak chuckle, but Ginny didn’t even smile, and his face fell, burning red with embarrassment at his awkwardness.

“The thing is,” Ginny said, and she looked like she was preparing herself to tell him someone had died. “You’re an 8th year. McGonagall says 8th years can’t try out, cause they’re more experienced and older, so it wouldn’t be fair. Sorry.” She went quiet, looking at her feet apologetically.

“Oh, ok.” Harry says airily, trying to sound like he didn’t care, but in reality he did. He really did. He was gutted that he was losing his one true passion. “I’ll just be... going then.” Harry turned and walked away, too ashamed and sad to glance back at Ginny, who he knew would be looking at his retreating figure, feeling sorry for him. 

The week ahead of him was... tiring. He barely slept, waking multiple times every night, the faces of his lost loved ones burnt into his mind. The knowledge that he was unable to play quidditch this year hung over him like a grey cloud, following him every second of the day, making him grumpy and irritable. He had been so rude to Hermione, that she was no longer talking to him, furious with his behaviour. He felt immensely guilty about that, and planned to apologise as soon as he got the chance. 

Hermione has stuck by him through so much, and Harry was determined never to lose her. She always came with Harry to take care of him. Ron hadn’t come back to Hogwarts, because he didn’t want to do more school, but he also stuck by Harry whenever he needed her. Harry knew he would be furious if he found out how mean Harry had been.

The amount of work being piled on him was insane. He had hours of homework every night, when all he wanted to do was crawl under his covers and cry. He hadn’t cried since the war. It was like it had broke him so much that he couldn’t function as a normal human being anymore.

Friday was the hardest day of the week. He was already tired from the rest of the week, and he had detention for not handing in his transfiguration homework. McGonagall had made him sit in her office for an hour, finishing his homework and writing lines. After a whole, dull hour of pointless writing, he forced himself to go to the library, and reluctantly attempted to finish some of his mountains of work. 

He had been working for nearly three hours when he finally gave up and walked back to the 8th year common room, defeated. As he walked, he planned what he was going to do when he got there. He was going to sit in that dusty, ugly old sofa by the fireplace, with a warm drink of hot chocolate in his hand. Then he could get a lovely night of sleep, do his remaining homework the next day, and reset for next week. Next week would be better. It had to be. 

He was excited for the hot chocolate. He loved them. The warm, soothing liquid flowing over his tongue. It never failed to cheer him up. He remembered Dudley always begging Aunt Petunia for hot chocolate after hot chocolate, and Harry would always roll his eyes at him, but now that Harry had tasted them, he honestly didn’t blame him. They were incredible. When he finally reached the common room, and climbed through the door, he saw Draco Malfoy was sat in a corner with his own hot chocolate. He looked tired and defeated. In fact, he looked exactly how Harry felt. He nodded his head slightly as he walked past him to go get his drink, and Malfoy gave him a small grunt of acknowledgement. When Harry had his hot chocolate in his hands, he walked back to the warm sofa by the fireplace and curled up on it. 

The hot chocolate had already cheered him up, and he hadn’t even taken a sip yet. Just the warmth flowing through his fingers was enough to put a smile on his face. He glanced over at Malfoy, but immediately flicked his head away, because Malfoy was looking at him. Harry sat drinking his delicious hot chocolate, and staring into the fire. He was fondly remembering the times when Sirius had talked to him through the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. Those moments had been so precious, just like every second he spent with his beloved godfather.

He missed Sirius with every inch of his body. He yearned to have even just a few more seconds with him. Sirius has meant the world to Harry. The closest thing to a father Harry ever had. The one who stuck by him, even when he thought he was going crazy. He was always able to talk Harry out of his bad moods. But now... he was gone. 

Forever. 

Harry closed his eyes, blocking out the pain. His eyes stung a little inside the eye lids, but he didn’t cry. He glanced up a Malfoy again, and saw Malfoy had gone back to reading the daily profit. Harry sat there until he’d drained his mug. He was silent, not exchanging a single word with Malfoy. All they did was awkwardly sneak peeks at each other, occasionally catching each other and looking away quickly.

Harry still heartily disliked Malfoy, but less than he had previously. It was in 6th year that his hatred had reached its peak. But he was over it. He had had time to grow up, out of holding grudges and making childish remarks about each other. And Malfoy had helped him out at Malfoy manor. But mainly, Harry just didn’t have the energy to hate him so passionately anymore.

When the mug was empty, Harry hopped to his feet, and walked into the dormitory. He got changed for bed, and curled up to try to get some sleep. Hopefully he wouldn’t have such awful nightmares tonight. 

The weekend passed, and somehow Harry managed to get all his homework done. He was determined to start this new week with a new mindset, and be less miserable. He apologised to Hermione, who grudgingly accepted his apology, and they became friends again. He made an effort to spend more time with her. He should forget about the stupid quidditch, it was only a game. And he could still fly, and maybe watch a match or two, have a go on the other side of the game. He promised himself he’d get his homework done the night he got it every night. Harry had been sleeping while cuddling an old knitted jumper, the one Mrs Weasley had made for Christmas in 1st year. It was comforting, and reduced the nightmares a little. 

Every evening since Friday, he had sat with Malfoy in the common room. With the same awkward silence, the same stealed glances at each other. To start with, Harry thought it was a coincidence, but he was starting to think Malfoy would sit himself on that arm chair in the corner to wait for him. 

That week Harry worked hard in his classes, and got most of his homework done straight away. But he kept feeling himself getting distracted by none other than Malfoy. Harry didn’t know WHAT it was about that little pocket of time spent sipping a hot chocolate in silence with Malfoy across the room, but he looked forward to it. It was probably the hot chocolate. Yeah, that’ll be it. Hot chocolate was brilliant. That was probably the appeal.  
The next Friday, when he entered the common rooms, he noticed Malfoy wasn’t there. He plopped himself in his usual sofa, a hot chocolate at hand, and began to drink, positively glaring at the door. He realised how desperate he was for Malfoy to arrive. Why did he care? Malfoy was meant to be his enemy, not his “awkwardly drinking hot chocolate in awkward silence making awkward glances at each other” buddy. Why did Harry feel so awkward around Malfoy? What was going on with him? Maybe he really was losing his mind.

Malfoy finally sauntered in, and this time Harry gave him a small smile, and Malfoy hesitated, then returned. He sat on usual chair, crossing his legs and unfolding the daily profit. 

That night, as Harry laid in his bed, gently stroking the woolly jumper, Harry wondered. He wondered why he felt this way about the evenings with Malfoy. He wondered why the evenings were even happening, they had always hated each other, why had Malfoy suddenly changed his mind?

Harry had no idea how to answer any of these questions, but spent the whole weekend pondering over them. It clearly hadn’t been the hot chocolate that held the appeal, no matter how great they are, because Harry had been mad that Malfoy wasn’t there yet. He had MISSED him. Crazy. The daily meetings continued into the week, and Harry started to think something insane. 

Did he LIKE Draco Malfoy? Like, as more than a friend. Even liking Malfoy as a friend was a big no-no as far as Harry was concerned, but anything else... it was treacherous. Harry paid more attention to how he felt when he was with him. His heart beat a little faster, and his cheeks went slightly pink when Malfoy looked at him. He felt lighter in his presence, as if he could do anything. But the big give away was the dream. Harry dreamt that about him and Malfoy, kissing. It felt so real Harry was surprised when he woke in his dormitory, and all he could think of was Malfoy’s pink lips, and how they would feel against his own. Harry compared these feeling to how he used to feel around Ginny, and... oh no. OH NO! He liked him. Harry Potter liked Draco Malfoy. It was calamitous. It was a disaster. Harry felt like screaming in frustration and disbelief of his current situation. It was ridiculous. 

The next day, Wednesday, as they sat in silence, Harry began to think about talking to Malfoy. Maybe he should strike up a conversation. He was bored of sitting in silence, he wanted to DO something. Harry spent the whole of their time trying to muster up the courage, a couple of times actually opening his mouth to speak. But nothing came out. What was he supposed to say? Harry had never been good at this. Eventually Malfoy went to bed, leaving Harry embarrassed and frustrated.

He spent the whole of Thursday thinking of that evening. He finally decided that would make a comment about the weather to Malfoy, then they would get talking, and it would end with them making out on the sofa... Harry shook himself. These thoughts were getting out of control.  
That evening, when Malfoy came into the common room, late again, Harry finally did it. He spoke.

“Ugh. Rain.” He gestured towards the window, where there was rain pouring down, dampening everyone’s spirits. But that wasn’t what dampened HARRY’s spirits. No. It was Malfoy’s response they did that, “Yeah.” Then he just went to his usual arm chair with his daily profit and hot chocolate. They didn’t speak again. Harry was immensely disappointed, and decided he had to come up with a plan for Friday that was unbeatable. Then Harry remembered a film Dudley used to like, where two girls were having a pillow fight, and ended up kissing. That was what he’d do. He was going to use magic to make the cushions in the common room start a pillow fight. It was perfect.

Harry was careful to arrive before Malfoy the next day. He charmed all of the cushions in Malfoy’s usual arm chair to hit him over the head when Malfoy sat down. Harry then went to his sofa, steaming hot chocolate at hand,twirling his wand in his hands. When Malfoy came, Harry grinned innocently at him, and Malfoy looked suspicious, glancing at the wand in his hands. But Malfoy went to sit down, and they sat in the usual silence for the first ten minutes.

But then, Harry heard a soft thump, and Malfoy let out a loud gasp. Harry had just turned to watch him, when another pillow whacked Malfoy. The confused expression slipped off his face as his eyes trailed down to the wand in Harrys hand. “That’s not fair!” he exclaimed in normal Malfoy fashion. “My wand is upstairs!” Harry shrugged, and carelessly tossed his own wand aside.

“I don’t need my wand.” He was surprised by the teasing voice that came out of him. “I can win anyway”. Then he took a pillow from his own sofa, and threw it at Malfoy. All hell broke loose. It was bedlam. Harry and Malfoy dashed around the common room, hitting each other with the pillows. Sometimes they threw them, and sometimes they got close enough to hit each other repeatedly with a single pillow. 

It was unbelievably fun. Harry found himself laughing properly for the first time since the war ended. The two boys chased each other in circles for over an hour. Finally, Malfoy hit Harry so hard that he fell on the floor. Luckily, the fall was softened with pillows that they had strewn all over the place, otherwise Harry would probably have had to pay a visit to the hospital wing. Harry couldn’t be mad at Malfoy though. The boy seemed to genuinely be having fun, and that was a rare and wonderful thing to see. Malfoy leapt on top of Harry, hitting and hitting Harry with the soft pillow, barely touching him, but enjoying it nevertheless. He was chanting “I win! I win!” He was so joyous. Harry laughed blissfully, not caring that he had lost. Malfoy eventually stopped hitting him. He was still grinning and laughing, and he murmured, “I won, Potter.” while staring down at Harry with his big, grey unblinking eyes. 

“At least you’re good at something. I always beat you at quidditch.” Harry smiled up at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the blonde boys pretty grey eyes. They were beautiful, like the ocean before a storm. 

“Shut it Potter.” Malfoy whispered, and his soft hand was on the side of his face, and his lips were getting closer and closer to Harry’s...


End file.
